


(sink your teeth) right through my bones

by eledhwenlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes to mark Stiles up. Good thing that Stiles likes it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(sink your teeth) right through my bones

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is 17 in this fic. Set in the same verse as [He Wears It Well (That Uniform)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/927701).
> 
> Fill for my kink_bingo square _possession/marking_.
> 
> Betaed again by the lovely inspiredlife. Thank you, darling. <333

Derek leans down and sucks on Stiles's nipple. 

"Derek," Stiles whines. "I'm already covered in hickeys."

"Not enough," Derek mumbles against Stiles's skin before flicking his nipple with his tongue. Stiles twitches, but doesn't move away, so Derek feels encouraged to continue. If Stiles were really upset with him, he'd push Derek away. 

Instead Stiles sighs. "You're weird," he says, but he tangles his fingers in Derek's hair, pressing him close. "Come on, go to town. You wanna do that nursing thing again?"

Derek nuzzles Stiles's chest some more, but today he doesn't want to live out that particular fantasy. "No," he says, almost inaudibly, because he's still nosing along Stiles's sternum. "Not tonight."

There's a perfect spot just under Stiles's armpit that's just begging to be bitten and sucked on. 

"Dude," Stiles says. He wriggles a bit, but he raises his arm, giving Derek better access. "I'm going to end up looking like I tried to fight an kraken and lost."

Derek grins, but thankfully Stiles can't see him. He concentrates on finishing sucking a perfectly round spot and lets it be.

***

The next afternoon, Derek's quietly reading a book when the door to the loft creaks open and then is slammed closed so hard the windows clank.

Stiles starts speaking before he's even thrown down his backpack. "Scott couldn't look me in the eye all day long, Erica kept smirking in that awful way of hers and Isaac blushed. What stupid werewolf messages are you sending?"

Stiles moves to stand in front of Derek. He has his arms crossed, but he seems more annoyed than angry--annoyed because he doesn't know what his marks mean.

"Usually you're smarter than this," Derek says and looks down at his book, even though it's difficult to concentrate. He can smell the blood so close underneath Stiles's skin, a siren call of want and need.

Suddenly the book is slapped out of his hands and Stiles crawls onto his lap. "You're such an asshole," Stiles says and grabs Derek's hair, pulling his head back. "You've claimed me, haven't you?" Stiles says, looming over Derek. He's pressing Derek down against the cushions, grounding him, keeping Derek safe. "You marked me all up so that every wolf who meets me knows who I belong to." Stiles is leaning down, whispering into Derek's ear, "Is it jealousy? Are you afraid someone else is going to come and take me?"

Derek automatically puts his hands on Stiles's hips, his fingers slipping underneath his hoodie and shirt. He shakes his head. Above him Stiles stills. His right hand has slipped down and he's stroking Derek's throat. It should make Derek want to fight, but all he wants is to lie back and let Stiles do what he wants. "Then why?" Stiles asks softly. "Why did Scott choke on thin air when he saw me this morning?"

"I'm proud of you," Derek says softly. "I'm proud that you trust me enough to let me do that and--" This is the hard part, where he has to be honest and needs to trust Stiles not to take his words and use them against him. Stiles has a temper, but Derek thinks that Stiles knows enough (and especially, he understands) about Derek not to make them a weapon. "I'm proud that you are with me."

Stiles is quiet and that's just. It's not right. Stiles isn't even quiet in sleep, whether it's smacking his lips or murmuring in his sleep or simply moving around until he's comfortable (usually ending with Stiles sprawled all over Derek because Derek "makes the best pillow, no lie"). It goes on for long enough that Derek is forced to look up.

Stiles is grinning. "Derek," he says, "are you telling me that marking me up is like me wearing your letter jacket?"

Derek can't help it, he blushes, because that's an apt metaphor. 

Stiles sits down on Derek's thighs, letting his knees bracket Derek. "Are we going steady now?" he asks with an unholy amount of glee. "Oh my god, is that the werewolf equivalent of putting a ring on it?" 

Stiles throws up his hand in what Derek supposes is meant to be a dance pose, but it looks ridiculous. And Stiles makes a strange hand movement, while his chest is heaving with suppressed laughter, and Derek snaps. Even werewolves can take so much. 

He grabs Stiles around the middle and flips them down on the couch. Stiles starts to laugh even as his back hits the cushions. "You want everyone to know that I'm your boyfriend," he crows, not fazed one bit by Derek scowling at him from above.

"Shut up," Derek growls, but he can't help himself--he has to lean down and sniff Stiles. 

Stiles laughs. "You doooo," he says, "you want to pay someone to write it in the sky, you--"

Derek jerks up, positioning himself above Stiles. "Yes, I do," he says, "so what?" _I thought you'd want everyone to know, too_ is what he doesn't say. Stiles, because he's Stiles and he has, according to his own words, spent countless hours deciphering what Derek's eyebrows are saying, gets it anyway.

"Hey." Stiles puts his hands on the back of Derek's neck, pulling him down gently, with hardly any pressure. Because it's Stiles, Derek goes willingly, unable to hold back. "I didn't mean, Derek, you know that I love you, right?"

Derek nods and when Stiles brushes his thumb over Derek's cheek, he lets himself flop down on top of Stiles, his face strategically hidden in the curve between Stiles's neck and shoulder. It's a good place to be, especially as there's one hickey right at the collar of Stiles's shirt. It smells good and he presses his nose there, trying to breathe in as much of Stiles as he can, just in case he fucks up this relationship, too.

"I like it," Stiles whispers into Derek's ear. "I like that you like me enough to want everyone to know--are you sniffing me again?"

Derek shrugs. "You smell good," he mumbles, words half-swallowed by Stiles's clothes.

"I smell like I spent the entire day in school."

Derek noses the mark, licking over it. He doesn't miss the light shiver that runs through Stiles. 

"You enjoy those marks, uh?"

Derek leans up on one elbow, so that he can look at Stiles's face, too. "And you like them, too," he says. Stiles grins back at him unabashedly, like there's nothing strange about being covered with bruises Derek sucked onto his skin. It makes Derek want to kiss him, and so he does. 

Stiles, as nervous as he was that first time, is completely shameless in bed. He's never hesitated to ask for things he'd like to try out, and in some ways being with Stiles has been a revelation for Derek, too. So Derek should've expected Stiles to say, "I like feeling your teeth on my skin."

Derek groans. "Stiles, you can't just say shit like that."

Stiles keeps talking, because he has made a habit out of not listening to Derek, and despite it Derek loves him. Or maybe because. The lines get blurry, when Stiles's fingers twist in his hair and he can feel Stiles growing hard against his thigh. "It's the thrill," he says, "because you could shift any second."

 _I won't_ , Derek wants to say but Stiles is baring his neck and pushing Derek's face against the side of his throat and Derek can't not latch on to that vein standing out, can't not mouth his way along Stiles's jawline. 

"I know you wouldn't," Stiles murmurs, breath hitching when Derek finds that spot right underneath his ear, "not on purpose. And then, when you suck on my skin, it feels like I'm on fire or being electrocuted or something because my nerve endings are just, damn, going crazy, and it feels good and it hurts a little and I want you to mark me all over, so everyone will know and, fuck."

Derek starts rutting against Stiles involuntarily. Stiles is reciting a wolf's wet dream (Derek is speaking out of experience) and the thought alone that Stiles wants to bear Derek's mark all over town makes Derek want to lie down and let Stiles do whatever he wants to Derek.

"Take this off," Derek says, tugging at Stiles's hoodie. "Stiles, I need--"

"Shhh," Stiles says. He pulls Derek on top of him properly, spreading his legs so that Derek can settle perfectly between his thighs. It's Derek's favourite position, because he can still kiss Stiles while fucking him (while Stiles tells him exactly how he wants to be fucked). Stiles also knows that it's a surefire way to short-circuit Derek's brain.

"I want you to go all out," Stiles says as he tugs Derek's shirt off. "Lose the pants, completely, I'm not above laughing at you when you fall over when you try to get up, because you were too lazy to pull them all off." He pushes Derek to his knees, just far enough that Stiles can take off his own hoodie and, waits, there are three shirts, what the hell, and thumb open his jeans. 

"I'm much faster than you," Derek says, as he turns around to kick off his pants and underwear before crawling on top of Stiles again. "Why are you so slow?"

"Weak human," Stiles says, and despite the fact that it's a joke, it makes Derek growl.

"You're anything but weak," he says.

Stiles grins up at him. "My cavalier," he says. "I love how nothing gets you riled up so quickly as me down-talking myself."

"You're the strongest person I know," Derek tells Stiles and, because that was just a bit too honest, he kisses Stiles. Being so close to Stiles also allows him to pull Stiles's jeans and underwear over Stiles's hips and down his thighs, as far as he can go.

Fortunately Stiles gets with the program. He pushes on Derek's shoulder until Derek flops down on his back and then Stiles basically wriggles out of his clothes. It shouldn't be sexy, but it is. To Derek, it's unbelievably sensual because now he can fully smell Stiles. He's aroused, cock half-hard, with a bit of sweat mingled in, but underneath all that it's simply--Stiles. 

Stiles crawls onto Derek in what he obviously thinks is a sexy move, but it makes Derek smile. Then Derek's attention is drawn to the marks littering Stiles's upper body.

"You're lucky that it's the season break right now and I don't have practise," Stiles says. "I'm sure someone would call the police, thinking I was attacked."

"They're just hickeys," Derek says. It would be more believable if his voice didn't break. Because they're not just hickeys and both he and Stiles know and both of them know that the other one knows and--there's meaning in them. Derek's already full hard, just from looking at the dark bruises on Stiles's pale skin and thinking, _I did that, he let me do that, mine_.

"Maybe I don't like hickeys," Stiles says. There's a hitch in his breath, though, and his heart stumbles over itself.

"Liar," Derek whispers. 

Stiles just grins at him. "I wonder," he says, in that fateful tone that means both the best and worst things for Derek. And then he stops. And just looks at Derek. 

Until Derek snaps. His patience has never been the best. "You wonder what?"

"If it's only a one-way street." Stiles's eyes seem so dark, his entire face showing his intent.

"N-no," Derek says, because it's not, but--

"They'll fade, won't they," Stiles says softly as he leans down to press a kiss against Derek's chest. "No matter how much I mark you up, they'll fade and no one will see."

 _You've already marked me_ , Derek wants to say. Deep inside where no one can see them, he's covered in Stiles's marks. 

"I'll just have to redo them tomorrow then, won't I?" Stiles mumbles against Derek's skin, just before he bites hard on Derek's pectoral. 

It's simple pleasure--the act of being claimed, of being marked. Even if no one will be able to see the marks, Derek will know where they were, will be able to recall how they felt, and he feels like he's baring so much more than his body for Stiles right now, and there's not a single part of Derek that cares, as long as Stiles keeps pressing him down against the couch, mouth busily sucking on Derek's skin, fingers tight around Derek's biceps. Derek wishes for all the marks and bruises, would let Stiles scratch him and cut him and--

"Woah, slow there, shhh," Stiles says, popping up to kiss Derek. It's only then that Derek realises he's said that last part out loud. "Let's start with some lovebites, okay?"

Derek nods, voice suddenly gone. 

Stiles treats Derek's body like his own personal playground and Derek relaxes into the cushions. Whereas Derek is methodological in his marking--placing them evenly, switching sides every so often so Stiles won't be too uncomfortable--, Stiles keeps jumping between caresses and bites, between Derek's neck, his arms, his torso, his hip, sometimes without even leaving a proper mark, occasionally cradling Derek's face and kissing him like there's no tomorrow.

It's the most satisfying experience Derek's had. He feels cherished, partly because Stiles spends some time leaving butterfly kisses on the inside of his elbow ("elbows don't get enough love, man, just let me"), partly because Stiles keeps petting him--he runs his fingers through Derek's hair, noses just behind Derek's ear, breathes on Derek's skin until he gets goosebumps. 

Their cocks touch sometimes, but there's no real intent behind their thrusts. Stiles is still hopping all over Derek's body, trademark of his ADD, murmuring things Derek's not sure Stiles means for him to hear. 

"I love the way your armpit smells, is that weird? Nah, you're a wolf, you smell me all the fucking time, if you got turned off by the smell of sweat, I'd never get laid. Your bellybutton is so cute, I want to live in it."

Stiles puts his tongue in Derek's bellybutton and Derek can't help but gasp. "You'd have to live here," he manages. 

"Wow, what a hardship," Stiles says. He leans up, looks at Derek and places a kiss on Derek's nose tip. Then he gets that faraway look. "Have you ever thought about a collar?"

Derek momentarily stops breathing.

"Not like a dog collar," Stiles hastens to add, "but--you know the sort of collar. Just to show everyone that you're mine and--"

Derek whimpers. Stiles grins and shifts until he's straddling Derek's thigh, his own pressing against Derek's cock in perfect rutting position.

"So I guess you'd like that," Stiles says as he puts his hand around Derek's neck, thumb tapping against the small hollow between Derek's collarbones, fingers leisurely stroking his skin. 

Derek shudders and tightens his hand on Stiles's hips. He doesn't trust his voice to not break, so he simply nods. Stiles grins at him. 

"We could add a tag," Stiles murmurs while he still gently pats Derek's neck. "Property of Stiles Stilinski, please call blah when found."

The thought sends shivers through Derek, the idea of not only knowing that he belongs to Stiles, but an outward sign that would announce to everyone that he's with Stiles. The other wolves can, of course, sniff it out, there are no secrets to be kept in a pack, but the idea of marking himself openly as taken is alluring. 

"Fuck," Stiles says, voice slightly awed. "You're really into this, aren't you?" He leans over Derek, lets his thigh fall more heavily against Derek's crotch and bears down.

Derek can't do anything but pull Stiles against him more tightly, thrusting up and enjoying the friction. "You'll be the death of me," he mumbles against Stiles's mouth, but Stiles only laughs.

"You know you love me for it."

Stiles puts his hands on Derek's shoulders, pinning him down, and kisses him deeply. He's still rubbing against Derek, a delightful friction against Derek's cock. Derek can't decide which of the sensations to focus on, the best he can do is to hang on to Stiles, work his hands underneath Stiles's shirt and flick his thumb over Stiles's nipples. A small part of him is facepalming that they didn't even manage to make it to the bedroom. Where Stiles has the excuse of being a horny teenager, Derek's really not, hasn't been for years, and it should be embarrassing how easily Stiles can take him apart, but mostly it speaks of comfort to Derek. Stiles gets him, even if he doesn't feel like talking, and that's more worth. 

"I was hoping to get to undress you slowly," Stiles says when they break for air. "But then you had to look like all that and your eyes and fuck."

Stiles buries his face in Derek's shoulder, a stutter in the rhythm of his hips speak of how close he is. 

"Who says that you can't still do that?" Derek says. Stiles is pressing against him harder, and it's easy to put his hands on Stiles's ass and pull him even tighter. He thrusts up, "We can go," once more, "all night."

Stiles grabs Derek's arms so tightly it hurts and then he moans open-mouthed against Derek's skin. Derek smells more than he feels Stiles coming, and the smell of hot jizz in the air is enough to tip him over the edge, too. 

Derek lets his head fall against the cushions, blinking slowly up against the ceiling. His mind is empty, blown as his pack would say, only the warm heavy weight of Stiles on top of him registering. 

For a minute there's only the sound of their heavy breathing, as they both regain their breath. Of course, Stiles isn't quiet for long. 

"I'm going to buy you a collar ASAP," Stiles murmurs. "As soon as I can move again."

Derek chuckles. "It's not that urgent," he says. "I know who I belong to."

Stiles hums. "But you want everyone else to know, too," he says. He's running his fingers slightly across the inside of Derek's arm. It's both arousing and comforting, and Derek relaxes even more into the cushions.

"'S long as the pack knows," he says, his eyes closing on their accord. 

He feels the small puffs of breath as Stiles laughs at him. "Nap before round two?"

Derek doesn't bother answering. He tugs the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it haphazardly around them and kisses the top of Stiles's head. He falls asleep to the steady beat of Stiles's heartbeat and soft fingers wrapped around his wrist.


End file.
